


Reveille

by dundus



Series: For The Life-Verse [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mary Sue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dundus/pseuds/dundus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of a friend comes into town and wants to make a bargain with Spike. One he's surprisingly not ready to make. AU, set post-Gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reveille

I had a spring in my step.  I had a date!  Well, it was a recurring date, and he was the same man with whom I already spent most of my time.  But it was a date.  We were going out for a drink, maybe some dancing.  Far out.

I paused at the door to our crypt.  Someone was in there – the trapdoor wasn't how Spike or I usually left it.  Someone human, by the smell of things.  We didn't entertain often.  Ever.  The Martha Stewart fairy passed most vampires by, and she was more scared of us than of most.

This scent cried out for the element of surprise.

It _was_ her.  The scent that Spike brought home with him most every time he left me.  I was taut with curiosity.

I crept halfway down the ladder, until I could see exactly where she was sitting.  Then I vaulted the remaining distance down, careful to make enough noise to shock her.

Startled, she jerked her knees up to her chin, knocking a book from her lap.  I circled her slowly, as she watched me with more tension than fear. She had to twist to keep me in constant view, her brown hair spreading like a sheet of satin over her shoulders.

I paused, and bounced expectantly on the balls of my feet.

"Are you a friend of Spike's?" We spoke simultaneously, paused, and laughed together, shattering the fragile tension.

"Jinx," she breathed, and I smiled at her teenagerhood.

I moved closer, impressed that she didn't flinch or show any signs of nervousness.  Her book lay by her side.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

She looked down at her book and then back up at me.

"You're a vampire too, aren't you?"

"Yes." I shrugged lightly, and sat down next to her, frowning. "You shouldn't have come here.  It's not safe.  There are lots of things that would love to snack on a treat like you."

She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows in question.

"No, not me." I smiled. "Spike would never …"

"So he's told you?  About me?  About everything?" she interrupted.

I raised my fingertip to her lips to hush her.  The faint sound of footsteps drifted from upstairs.  Either Spike, or trouble.         

"Not in so many …" My whisper was cut off.

"Not in so many words, niblet."

He was back.  Hands in the pocket of his leather duster, lips slightly parted, shadows setting his sculpted face in relief, he watched us.

I backed up from the girl, hands raised.  Not in any words at all, I thought.

"Hi."  Her voice had sudden tremors.

In what seemed like one quick movement he had closed half the distance between us.  His eyes were tense with concern.

"Are you okay?"

Both pairs of eyes flickered towards me, and I knew it was time for me to find something else to do.

I walked up to him, and stood by his side, facing the opposite direction.  Turning my head slowly, I placed my hand on his chest.  He covered it gently with his hand.

"Later, luv." His tone was hushed so only I would hear it.

"Later," I answered him as quietly.  I freed my hand, turned, and waved goodbye to the girl.

I took the stairs two by two, and stood undecided at the crypt door.  From below I could hear hesitant laughter following Spike's comforting tones.

Bah!  Stood up! My options for alternative entertainment were very limited.  I had really been looking forward to a night out with Spike.  Or a night in.

I noticed the smell of freshly turned soil nearby, and the promise of a momentary distraction.

Hopping up onto a tombstone, I crouched in anticipation.

Usually I prefer to wait until a newly risen vampire … okay, excuse any apparent hypocrisy. I had been a martial artist in life.  In death, I was faster, stronger, and had much more time to train.  That and the chip on my shoulder make me able to talk smugly about "newly risen" vampires.

As I was saying, usually I prefer to wait until a newly risen vampire has his land legs under him, and his wits about him.  Otherwise it can be as boring as killing humans.  Waiting until they went for their first meal added to the excitement.

But I'd been good.  No humans were harmed in the making of my nights on the town.

Tonight, right now, I needed to doodle, a simple kill while I decided what to do.  Killing time killing vamps.

Jack (that was the name on the tombstone) struggled up through the wood and soil.  His back was to me; I'd forgotten to consider the logistics when I chose my perch, so I pushed him roughly to get his attention.

He stumbled away from me and turned to where I'd leapt to the ground, careful to keep stable on the torn-up grave.

Jack.  Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.

With an axe kick I twisted his head sharply to the side and dropped him to his knees.  I gave him enough time to stagger back to his feet.

A quick charge, a knee to the gut, holding him down by his tie and staking him in his back, and I still hadn't decided what to do with my night.

There was always the Bronze – it had music, plenty of noise.  But it was full of_people_, and I didn't need to be bummed out.  Short of exploring, which I didn't feel too keen on right now, that left Willy's.

Good old Willy the snitch and his demon-filled bar.  All heads turned as I made my entrance, but I knew better than to take this as any sort of compliment.  I was walking a very fine line.  I'd spent my brief vampirehood killing demons for sport.  But I'd been doing it with Spike at my side.  Spike lived on the outside of outsiders, but somehow he'd earned a wary respect for his abilities of vengeance.  They feared him, and they left me alone.

Willy had no scruples.  I might as well have been the fair-haired boy himself – service was quick and the Bloody Marys were fresh.

I nursed my drink, and others like it. I was reluctant to head back home and risk company still being there, but the idea of finding somewhere else to hang out didn't appeal to me either.

But then a distraction walked in the door.  Meat.  At Willy's.  I wasn't the only one that noticed – he was being watched even more carefully than they'd watched me.

I was watching him for two reasons. First, I didn't want to miss any fireworks.  Second, he was hot.  Small and obviously well built under his thick T-shirt, with messy brown hair and icy blue eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of his conversation with the snitch those eyes turned to me.  My vamp hearing couldn't pick up any of it, and my lip reading skills were awful.  So I walked over.

Willy didn't bother hesitating.  I'd never actually hit him, but Spike had let me pretend I was going to.  I guess he remembered.

"He's looking for Spike."

Now this was more fun than I could possibly have guessed.

"You a friend of Spike's?" Twice in one night, but this time I asked alone.

"We have some friends in common."

This was getting more and more promising.

I kept the walk to the cemetery brisk.  I knew my stamina wouldn't suffer, and I wanted him at least a bit winded.  I paused near our crypt door.

"Tired?" I asked.

"Not really."

Damn.

"What did you say your name was?"

He looked at me squarely and without humour.  We both knew he'd never actually said.

"Lindsey."

"And you know Spike from where?"

"A mutual friend sent me in this direction."

I'd had enough time to smell that the girl had left, but I couldn't be sure if the silence housed Spike.  By now we'd made enough noise, and Lindsey had left enough scent that … I heard a heel make contact with concrete deep inside.  Time to go.

"C'mon.  We're almost there."

I took him to a modest two-person mausoleum, in no way connected with the network of catacombs that had evolved beneath the Sunnydale cemetery.  He stood, arms crossed, outside the door.  I gestured him into the darkness, taking careful time to watch his ass as he went inside. Lighting one of the torches that had been propped against the wall by the entrance, I tucked it into the makeshift sconce and positioned myself casually between the stranger and the fire.

Spike's footsteps heralded his approach.  I started to smile well in advance of his arrival.  As he reached the door, I turned to meet him.  His hand took mine, and we moved to the bier near us, still effectively between Lindsey and both the exit and the potential weapon.

I pulled myself close to Spike as he sat.  I nuzzled his neck gently, carelessly inhaling the staling smell of the girl.  I figured it would be best to let the guys stare it out for a few more seconds.

And then they were done.

The vibe in the room gave Spike the home court advantage.  Which was the way I liked it.

I decided to hench it up and walked over to Lindsey.  I circled him, like I'd circled the girl earlier, but with less benign intent.  He bristled with tamped-down hostility.

"So.  Here's Spike." I leaned my breasts into his arm, as I breathed into his ear.  His muscles were as firm as his demeanour.  "What did you want from him?"

"I have an offer for you." He was addressing Spike, ignoring me entirely.  I liked this man.  He was fun.  I moved around behind him, tracing my fingers through his hair.  He kept ignoring me. "It's about your chip."

I glanced quickly at Spike.  What chip?  We hadn't really spent much of our time talking since I'd been vamped.  But I could read his surprise.  He hadn't expected this man to know about his chip either.

"How do you know about his chip?" I asked.

His smile was small and cocky.  I ran my fingers over his shoulder.  Nice broad shoulders, he had.  Strong.  Oh, and the heat that rose off him.

"A little bird told me," he said.

"Drusilla." Spike raised an eyebrow, and lowered it slowly.

I took a last sniff of Lindsey.  Sweat and cotton and confidence.  I rejoined Spike, perching on the bier next to him, and rested my hands on the soft worn leather of his coat.

"You weren't very nice to her when she last visited," Lindsey rebuked with mock concern.

"Things change."

"You hurt her feelings." It was obvious he didn't care.  "But that's not why I'm here. I want to offer you a chip-related favour."

"You're one of those lawyer blokes she was on about, aren't you?" Spike laughed emptily. "Lawyers don't do favours."

Lindsey's smile became broad.

"Like you said, things change. I'm not one of them anymore.  But I still have connections, and some of them are medical.  I think we can be of value to each other."

"What's in it for you?"

"Your chip."

"And what would you want with my chip, then?"

"No need for you to worry about that." Lindsey was very matter of fact. "You can look forward to being able to attack humans again, once I get it out of your head.  The rest is none of your business."

"Let's pretend it is, shall we?"

Spike's tone was both sinister and playful.  But Lindsey didn't answer.

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of using it on a certain tall dark and broody, would you?" Spike asked.

That got a reaction from Lindsey.  Both men shared a moment of camaraderie – but it lasted no longer than their bitter laughter.  He shook his head.  There was silence again.

Spike spoke first.

"The answer's no, mate.  Keep your hands off my brain."

Somehow Lindsey's narrowed eyes became even narrower and flintier.

"I'll give you a couple days to think it over."

And without pause, he left.

I looked at Spike, juggling this new information.  I had become pretty good at reading people; every gesture, flutter of the pulse or change in body chemistry or language screamed at me with klaxon intensity.  But I didn't have what I knew Spike had – the uncanny ability to put all of this into crystal-clear context; to work out the connections, the motivations, and how simplest to use this knowledge.

I knew he was tense, annoyed and disturbed.  I did not know why, nor how this inhibiting chip fit into the picture.  Maybe this chip stopped_him_ from attacking humans, but why was he so vehement that_I_ must leave them alone?

One thing I was sure of was what would make_me_ feel less tense, annoyed, or disturbed.

"Do you want to go kill something?"

As usual, Spike seemed to be working from a shopping list of demons that needed killing. This particular scaly breed was a good candidate for knife fighting.  I was especially excited, since I'd been practicing my two-handed knife techniques.  Spike tucked a Japanese sword under his coat and looked at me.

"Sorted?" he asked.

I patted my knives and nodded, smiling.  We were ready to play.

We took them by surprise. It looked to be an easy kill.  I chose the smaller of the two, eager for the chance to finish quickly and enjoy watching Spike fight.  But for that moment, all my concentration was on my new knife skills – learning is greatly complicated when you can't practice in front of a mirror.

I started the music in my head.  This was a holdover from capoeira. I had dropped the ritual aspects of the art, bound up in life as they were.  But the playful spirit of trickery they called malicia I kept, and supplied my own soundtrack to replace the traditional Bahian chants.

_To the beat of the rhythm of the night,  
Dance until the morning light  
Forget about the worries on your mind,  
You can leave them all behind_

I promise you that it's much less cheesy when you're wielding six-inch blades and darting and slicing the life out of a hulking grey beast.  Or maybe you had to be there.

My dance was soon over.  I turned to watch Spike.  His opponent was armed with a short vicious sword.  Spike met every attack with a firm parry and a cut besides, driving relentlessly forward.  He danced too as he fought, whether he realized it or not.  The music of his fight was more impatient and sensual than mine.  I imagined something Latin – a tango perhaps, or the insistent rhythm of the flamenco – as he blocked and slashed.  He was enjoying himself. I could see it in the light of his eyes and the tilt of his hips – some of his earlier tension was draining away.

He was wearing his opponent down, backing it (him? her?) towards a wall.  These demons I couldn't read, so I don't know if that was resignation I saw on its face as it became obvious there was no escape.  Spike's sword bit deeply into the scales, separating much of the neck from its shoulders.

He turned to me, with ichor dripping from his hands. I tossed him a dubiously clean rag from a suspicious pile near me.  He wiped himself as best he could before retrieving his weapon from the fresh corpse.  That's why I fight in pleather.  I'd hate to ruin good leather.

An expression was sneaking onto his face – my favourite expression.  It was half smile, half smirk, all sex, all Spike.  His eyes sparkled, and I couldn't help smiling in response.

"You were right, kit," he said.  "I do feel a bit better."

* * *

It was a few hours later before we finally got to sleep.  But not for long.  Spike's sleep was restive.  I tried to calm his tossing without waking him, but it was no use.  More than once, he woke sitting up gasping for air he didn't need.  Each time he'd roll back over, muttering half apologies and urging me back to sleep.

Since our bed offered me no rest, I left it for the weapons chest.  I reached for a butterfly knife, and started working through a set of knife opening and closing drills of escalating complexity, reaching a beautiful but impractical climax of flourishes, before working my way back down to the most simple.

I had just changed the knife to my left hand when I heard Spike wake.  I didn't turn to face him, listening instead as he slipped into his clothes.

"Let's go get a spot of something liquid, luv."

Relieved he wasn't ducking off to hide, I closed the knife, slipped it into a pocket, and reached for my jacket with the other hand.

We hadn't cleared the cemetery when we were jumped from downwind. Five men, humans, wielding stakes and faces of false courage – men who knew what we were, how to kill us, and that it wouldn't be easy.  Hired hands, I wagered.

In the time since I'd been vamped, adhering to Spike's strict rule had meant I'd never really fought humans – generally, if you didn't attack them, they didn't attack you.  Especially with my surly temper.

Three came at me.  I was surprised they thought me the greater threat, but I wasn't looking this gift ass-kicking opportunity in the mouth.

They were cautious, but not cautious enough.  I caught the first one with a sidekick into the chest, lifting him off his feet and cracking ribs. Before he hit the ground, I'd roundkicked the second attacker's head into a convenient tombstone.

I spun to face the third, pulling my knife at last from my pocket, and flicking it open with a crisp motion.  He blanched, so I rewarded him with a heartless smile, sliding my lips to show my fangs.  He swung his stake at me in a carelessly wide motion.  I stepped inside his arc, blocking the strike with both forearms.  My left hand slid to his wrist, controlling his arm with my fingers, and I shot my knife hand to his throat, pressing just hard enough to draw a bead of blood.  I smiled again, and he knew he was dead.  Maybe not.  I closed the knife with a quick gesture and cracked him in the temple with the butt.  Or maybe he was.

Spike wasn't faring well in his fight.  Somehow they'd managed to get a couple serious blows through his guard.  This confused me, but only until I saw him try to land a punch and collapse, clutching his head in pain, the moment his fist glanced off of his opponent's jaw.  The chip.  It was more crippling than I'd imagined.

To get to him, to help him, I had to get through the two remaining attackers.  I was now sure they were Lindsey's men.

Snarling, I leapt at the one nearest me, flattening him with my momentum and knocking him out with a punch.  I looked up from my crouch over his body, ready to finish the fight and get Spike somewhere safe.

In these few seconds, the last man had wrestled Spike into a painful hold. Spike was a brawler -- an elegant, efficiently lethal brawler, but a brawler nonetheless.  There's not much call for vampires to subdue or disarm without doing injury.  Pinned as he was, there was no way for Spike to escape without it. He was helpless.  And a stake was being held to his heart.

I stared at the pointed tip of wood trained on Spike's chest.  All three of us knew how little pressure it would take to dust him.

I looked at Spike's face. He had stopped struggling after his errant elbow had ended up causing more pain for him than his attacker.  His expression was opaque.  The slight flaring of his nostrils could have meant anything – anger, resignation, even fear.  No, not Spike.  Not fear.  But I wasn't seeing the defiance I was expecting.  He didn't want to be dusted, and he wasn't taking any risks.  His stare held me for a moment, but I had to break eye contact.

Go, the voice in my head was hissing.  Turn around and run.  It's not you they want.  It's him, and the chip.  You can leave to vamp again another day.

That's when I knew I was defeated.  Panic filled me at the thought of leaving him alone to be operated on, or staked, or even hit again.  Terror filled me at the thought of being alone, without this strangely gentle killer, without the man who'd fed me his own blood to give me some more time.

He was all I knew.  I wasn't interested in the rest.

I let the bony ridges disappear and my fangs retract.  Then I did the unforgivable.  I closed my eyes.  I couldn't look at him needing to be saved.  I couldn't look at him seeing me fail him.

In this moment of stillness I heard motion behind me, but my reflexes were panic-dulled.  I had enough time to open my eyes and see vulnerability and pain flicker across Spike's face.  My world exploded in light and pain as something cracked me across the back of my head.  Then darkness.

* * *

I didn't fade slowly back to consciousness – I snapped. Cautious and very aware of a residual ache in the back of my head, I explored my environment without moving.  Cold and heavy metal encircled my wrists.  Manacles, I assumed.  It took all my self-control not to jump to my feet, growling and thrashing.  Manacles had always been a fear of mine.  But there were bigger things to think about.

I could hear the low hum of a ventilation system, but the air in here was still.  It didn't feel like a small room.  Perhaps it was a large building.  A building with power, anyway.

I let my eyes open to slits.  The room was dim but far from dark.  Certainly gave my night vision no problems.  I shifted from the graceless position, facedown on the cold concrete, moving slowly to minimize the rasp of metal against metal.

Now for the smells of the room.  Men.  Lindsey.  Fucker.  It was getting harder and harder not to scream.  There were faint smells of smoke and leather.  Vampires didn't leave much of their own scent, but Spike's habits wove a signature with which I was intimately familiar.

He had been here, with Lindsey, and they'd left.  I was also quite familiar with the smell of vampire dust, and there was none here.  So I could focus on anger.  And escape.  And rescue.

I tested my restraints.  Reasonably firmly seated chains, with about four feet of give.  Standard size, which was good.  I worked my trick with my right hand – folding it insanely narrow, and yanking it viciously through the shackle.  There was more flesh left behind on the cuff than I'd have preferred, but no bone, so that was good.

Now for the other hand.  I looked around the room, inhaled the last traces of Spike's smell, and channelled my anger into one more swift tug.  With a firm grip, a good angle, and all of my undead strength I snapped the chain in half.  There was a pulling and tearing in my shoulder, but again the bones stayed where they belonged.

I paced the limits of the room, playing with the chain dangling from my wrist.  The metal door was locked.  It was hung to open inwards, and I didn't think I could force it without making an unholy fracas.  I hunkered down beside the doorway to consider my options.

I only came up with one.  Kill the next person that came through the door.  Not the most complex or far-reaching of plans, but it would do in a pinch.

I heard the fall of footsteps.  And then came the smell.  Maybe I wouldn't kill_him_ immediately.

The door was open and he was two steps into the room before Lindsey realized I wasn't where I should have been.  He noticed this because I was behind him, wrapping the length of chain around his throat.

"Hey cutie." My voice was much rawer than I'd been expecting.  I liked the effect.  I had the leverage to hoist his chin higher with the metal, so I did.  Roughly.

"You don't want to kill me." His voice was always this husky, I supposed.

"Oh, hush with the sweet talk, Lindsey," I purred. "You can't imagine how much I'm looking forward to snapping your neck."

"Kill me, and they have no reason not to stake Spike." His voice rumbled through to my chest and I braced against him, rocking him to his toes. "They don't want his chip.  I do."

I'd forgotten how good he smelled.  I don't remember all humans smelling this good.  Many vampires enjoyed the chemical stink of fear, but I wasn't one of them.  Lindsey wasn't afraid.  In fact there might have been a whiff of eagerness, perhaps even arousal.  Pervert.  I was loving it.  Hating him, loving it.

"Tell me more."

"I have nothing against you two crazy kids," he continued, calm and persuasive.  And sarcastic. "I get the chip, the docs sew him back together, and you two go on your vampy way."

I dragged the chain across his neck to free him.  I made sure to do it roughly enough to bruise.  Suddenly released, he stumbled, and I shoved him for good measure.

He turned to face me, fingers idly stroking the scratches at his throat.

"He gave up, you know.  He's giving me the chip." He regarded me with amusement.  I hid my anger by swinging the chain back and forth.  Well, perhaps I didn't hide it convincingly.

"Take me to him," I snapped.

He smiled, feeling he'd won, knowing I didn't want to believe him.  The chip had seemed important to Spike.

He walked past me slowly.  I think the brush against my arm was deliberate.  I hope he enjoyed it.  Fucker.  Under other circumstances, I might have too.

He didn't turn around to see if I was following him, or react when I reached his side and matched his gait.  For now I felt comfortable taking him at his word.  I could always kill him later.

That was when I realized I'd lost my butterfly knife.  I know, I know, fists and fangs, what does a vampire need with a knife? But it was a nice knife, pretty, and very sharp.  And Spike had … well, he probably hadn't bought it, but he'd given it to me, and that was what counted.

I must have trusted Lindsey a little – here I was thinking sappy and sentimental thoughts about gift weapons from Spike.  Somewhere inside I realized I believed Spike was okay, that I'd find him, and that we'd kill all the people responsible for this.  It was almost exciting.  My step got lighter and I absently stroked the chains I'd neatly rewrapped around my forearm.

Finally, featureless corridors later, Lindsey paused and exhaled deeply.  Self-satisfied little prick.  Damn, he smelled good.

"Remember, they're not going to try and save my life," he said. "You kill me, and they wreck Spike, or dust him if you're lucky.  Let them do their job, and we'll leave you alone."

Sure.  Whatever.

The doors opened onto a makeshift operating theatre.  Very spare – easy to do when you don't have hygiene concerns.

Spike was securely strapped to a tilted operating table.  His head was braced, and the back of it was tented.  Two doctors were hard at work, muttering to each other.

He must have known I was there; ready to kill them all and save him, but he kept his eyes closed.  You didn't use general anaesthesia for brain surgery, and I suspected Lindsey only used anaesthesia to get dates.

Everything else fell away as I walked towards him; smug Lindsey, busy doctors, dingy room.  I grasped one of his pale hands as firmly as I could.

"No," he said.

No? No?

I waited.

"Don't," he continued.

Didn't he know I'd had a scream building since I'd woken up?  Why was he doing this to me?

He squeezed my hand gently.  I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, he had opened his too, and was looking at me.

"He," I hissed, gesturing with my chin towards where I felt Lindsey was standing, "he said you'd given up."

"Nah, luv," he said quietly. "Not bloody likely."

I was dizzy with relief.

"What, then?" I was still whispering, pointlessly.

Defiance and a touch of contempt washed over his face.  I knew it was going to be okay.  I even had room for another pang of missing my beautiful knife.

"It's my call now," he said.

"There we go.  Thanks for your help." I turned to Lindsey's voice.  The two doctors were standing behind him.  In one hand was a case I presumed held his precious chip.

I stepped towards him, swinging my chain and smiling.  Finally, I thought.  His other hand appeared, holding a large cross.

My first reflex was to flinch. My second reflex was to lash out with the chain.  The cross clattered to the floor, and Lindsey laughed as he stepped backwards into a sudden shaft of sunlight.  I stepped back, victim again of reflexes.

He turned nonchalantly and walked out into the noonday sun, following the doctors.  Did I mention he was a fucker?

I closed the door carefully.  No need to add crispy to my collection of bloody, bruised and torn.  I walked around the gurney.  Spike was stitched up very neatly; you couldn't tell anything had happened beneath his tousled hair.  My shallow self was grateful.

"Let us out, luv?"

I straddled the gurney, freeing him from the multiple straps.  He paused me in my efforts and teased me about my chain.

"If I'd known you liked flashy jewellery, kit …" He laughed, and I had to kiss him.

"But the chip?" I asked, when I was finished kissing and had gone back to untying him.

"Like I told you – long story."

We both turned and looked at the sliver of sunlight leaking under the door.

"I've got time," he said, picking the lock on my cuff.  I smiled fondly at him, flung the chain with a crash into the door, and curled into his arms.

He talked.  I listened.

He talked of being sired, of running wild. He talked of slayers. Slayers? Nothing I'd have to worry about, he assured me sadly. He talked of Angel and Angelus, of Drusilla and Darla.  He talked of the chip and of The Slayer – he capitalized it with his reverence.  He talked of love, unexpected and unaccepted.  He talked of keys that would unlock the end of the world.  End of the world?  Not something I needed to worry about, he assured me again, still sadly.  He talked of a Little Sister, of understandings reached, of promises made, attempts failed, and a vow renewed over a flower-strewn grave.

He talked, I listened.

The sun set, and we stood in the doorway looking at the new night.

"You have to go to her, don't you?" I tilted my head and looked at him from the corners of my eyes.

"Yeah." He reached over out of habit and straightened my head. I luxuriated in the grip of his strong fingers.  "Things have changed.  They need to know."

I watched him go, platinum and alabaster and black black leather, disappearing into the familiar night of Sunnydale.

I smiled and stuffed my hands into my pockets.  The hand was feeling better, but my shoulder still ached. I set off in the direction of home, stepping in beat to the music in my head.

_At night when you turn off all the lights  
There's no place that you can hide  
Oh no, the rhythm is gonna get you  
Rhythm is gonna get you  
Rhythm is gonna get you  
Rhythm is gonna get you  
The rhythm is gonna get you tonight_


End file.
